


According to plan

by do_it_to_julia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Youngling Acquisition, Bonding through strategic demolition, Dad Jokes, First Meetings, Hand Jobs, Jedi being surprisingly petty, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mild Smut, Reconciliation, Sacking of Coruscant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:00:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21538639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/do_it_to_julia/pseuds/do_it_to_julia
Summary: Two slightly adversarial Jedi must work together to survive the sacking of Coruscant.Title is from Melanie's "Peace Will Come (according to plan)", which has only a very tenuous connection with this story but is a nice song anyway.
Relationships: Original Jedi Archivist/Original Jedi Knight
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019





	According to plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shadowmaat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowmaat/gifts).



> Slight liberties have been taken with the Sacking of Coruscant. Though I’m aware there’s a Legends book that gives more detail, I made a conscious decision to stick to the bones of the event and build on those instead. Also I didn’t actually get around to _reading_ the book; I got very sick, and then by the time I got a little better I already had an idea about where to go anyway.
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, shadowmaat!
> 
> For those unfamiliar with the SWTOR era, you may find these pages useful:  
> <https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sacking_of_Coruscant>  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SiiQfvg9anA>
> 
> Also, SWTOR is a badass game and you should all play it. The end.

As first meetings went, it wasn’t the most successful. In fact, as Padawan Jaunas lay recovering in the temple infirmary with a kolto patch over his nose, a mild but nonetheless painful concussion, and his Nautolan master staring down at him reproachfully, he was forced to downgrade that assessment to _moderately disastrous_.

Master Odred had sent him to the Coruscant archive for Togruti cultural records. He had instead returned with a broken nose and a set of bruised knuckles. Still. No reason to let a little thing like failure get in the way of a cheerful disposition. Jaunas attempted a smile.

“You should see the other guy.”

“I have,” Odred responded, unamused.

“Did he mention that he hit me first?”

“He did. He also mentioned that you provoked him. And then you drew your lightsaber.”

Jaunas shrunk down into the bed slightly. “I didn’t use it.”

“You struck him _with the hilt_.”

It was sometimes difficult to tell what Celovit Odred was feeling, due to those big black eyes and that all-round stoic disposition. Right now, though, Jaunas had the distinct feeling that she was seriously pissed, and her words only confirmed it.

“When we allow you to construct and wield your own lightsaber, it is a sign that we believe you are responsible enough to carry one,” she intoned, her gaze boring into him. “We expect you to treat your weapon - and your fellow padawans - with respect. We do not expect you to go around picking _fist-fights_. You are extremely lucky that the Order has not elected to expel you both.”

“He-” Jaunas choked off a protest as Odred’s glare intensified. He tried again. “Master, with respect, he was the one who lashed out at me.”

“And he will be disciplined accordingly. As will you. Amongst other things, you will be disciplined for telling Padawan Skriveni that his archival specialization was - what was the phrase? ‘A lot of useless banthashit unless the Empire are somehow going to be thwarted by a well-designed sewer system’, I think.”

“It was bantha- _poodoo_ ,” Jaunas protested meekly. “I was just trying to be funny.”

" _Trying_ is the operative term. What does the Galaxy need, Jaunas?” she prompted, a little patronizingly.

“Jedi,” the padawan mumbled.

“And what does the Galaxy _not_ need?”

“...terrible stand-up comedians with lightsabers.”

“Good.” She stood up, looming to her full height - a head and a half above her teenage padawan’s. “I’ll be back when you’re discharged. You can spend some time working out how long it’s going to take you to mop every floor in the temple.”

“Yes, master,” muttered Jaunas. She patted him on the head as she left.

* * *

Ten years passed. By then, Jaunas was a full-fledged Jedi Knight, and Odred had commented - affectionately - that the stand-up comedy scene on Coruscant was probably richer for his absence. Jaunas disagreed, but he wasn’t about to hang up his saber. He’d already had one successful tour against the Sith, with many more planned.

He’d filled out too; his gangly teenage frame had matured into a kind of lithe athleticism, though his hair was no less red and his eyes no less round and shallow-set. Jaunas had stopped cutting the former the moment his braid had been severed, and it now hung chaotically about his shoulders when it wasn’t tied back for combat. He thought it looked dashing. Odred thought he looked like a B-list adult holofilm star (a comparison that Jaunas was oddly proud of) and that a Jedi should not be concerned by appearances anyway.

 _Well, if a Jedi shouldn’t be concerned with appearances,_ he’d told her, _why does it matter?_

 _I don’t want people telling me they saw my former Padawan in ‘Darth Hardstaff does Dromund Kaas Volume IV’,_ Odred had retorted, but she’d ruffled his hair and smiled anyway, and left him alone to wonder exactly why she knew how many volumes there were.

He and Odred still travelled together, sometimes, which is why they were both at the Coruscant temple when it fell.

For once, the place had been relatively empty. The vast majority of Jaunas' higher-ranking colleagues were either engaged in peace talks on Alderaan or in the opposite of peace talks with the Sith. Only a skeleton staff of temple guards and acolytes remained, along with the archivists and the younger students. The high-vaulted corridors now echoed with the distant sounds of Jedi learners with training sabers.

Jaunas found it a strangely comforting sound. He'd always been good with children. Especially when it came to dispensing what Odred called "dad jokes".

There had been no warning that the Empire were about to attack, no shifting in the Force that Jaunas had been able to make out - only the distant sound of lightsabers igniting, and, moments later, a burst of blaster fire from elsewhere in the upper levels.

Odred glanced at Jaunas before breaking into a run, and Jaunas followed. An almighty crash seemed to rock the foundations of the temple. Odred flinched.

“Something’s here. Something dark.”

“...yeah,” said Jaunas, biting back a more sarcastic retort, but a moment later, he felt it too. A presence like the scraping of fingernails on a chalkboard; an oppressive grip on his heart.

Their pace slowed as they rounded a corner and joined the group of Jedi running toward the atrium, only to see the bridge explode and collapse a few metres ahead. A Mandalorian wearing rocket gear seemed to be the responsible party, from what Jaunas could make out amongst the smoke and the broken columns and the telltale red glow of Sith lightsabers.

“Shit,” said Odred.

Jaunas’ first instinct was to run toward the fray - for someone with his telekinetic abilities, getting down from the broken bridge would be trivial - but his former Master grabbed the back of his robe to stop him.

“Get to the crèche,” she snapped. “Help them evacuate.”

“No! We need to defend-”

“This was _planned_.” Her all-black eyes flashed bright with the reflection of a distant fire; Jaunas could hear the rush of a flamethrower from somewhere ahead. “More will come.”

Jaunas’ hand was on his lightsaber, gripping tight. “Surely the crèche master-”

“- is lying crushed under those rocks down there, Jaunas. Don’t be a fool! Go, now!”

Jaw set tight at the prospect of turning his back on the battle, Jaunas turned and fled, feeling the ground under his feet shudder with more explosions. Along with them came the realization that they weren’t just bombing the temple. Those sounds were coming from _outside_.

The younglings were holed up in a classroom toward the back of the temple, clustered in an uncertain group around another adult Jedi. Tall and broad-shouldered, with close-shorn dark hair and heavy-lidded brown eyes, and - 

Well, crap.

“Archivist Skriveni,” he spluttered.

Any doubt that Skriveni recognized the young man he’d had a fist-fight with years ago was quickly dispelled by the look on the Archivist’s face. It was the look of a man who was not having a good day. Then again, nobody here really was, unless you counted the large group of lightsaber-wielding arseholes who'd emerged from the Imperial drop ship after it smashed through the temple doors. 

“Ah, Knight Janus,” he called curtly.

“What’s happening?” asked a young Miralian girl, before Jaunas could correct him. She couldn’t have been older than eight, and she was by no means the youngest there. A boy of six or seven seemed to have attached himself to Skriveni’s leg. Another was gripping the Archivist’s arm and sucking nervously on his own fingers. Skriveni did not seem to be enjoying this experience.

“The Empire have attacked the temple,” Jaunas said, then added quickly with a tone of forced cheerfulness, “But don’t worry! Because Archivist Skriveni and I are going to get you somewhere safe and, er, we can wait there until the Empire have gone away again! Right?”

“Right. Yes,” Skriveni exhaled. “There should be some Guardians on their way to help evacuate-” Another explosion. The child at Skriveni’s leg squeezed harder. “-to help evacuate us through the maintenance access tunnel.”

“Uh,” said Jaunas, as a rattle of blaster-fire burst from somewhere disconcertingly close by. “Do you think maybe they could… catch up?”

“Our route is partially blocked off by hostiles,” Skriveni replied through gritted teeth. “I really think it’s best to stay put right now.”

“Which way’s the access tunnel?”

“It’s through that large crowd of Sith who want to-”

“Yeah, no, I mean direction-wise. From here.”

Skriveni pointed to the wall opposite. Jaunas cracked his knuckles.

“What’s through that wall?” he asked.

“Another classroom-” The Archivist stopped abruptly. “No. I know what you’re thinking and the answer is no.”

“We can’t just stand here and-”

“The answer is no,” continued Skriveni patiently, “because that is a load-bearing wall. We can go through the storage room behind us instead. How good is your telekinesis?”

Jaunas grinned.

“Hey kids,” he said, “Who wants to see me smash stuff?”

* * *

Three wrecked walls and one near-miss later, a group of dusty young Jedi learners were being herded into the tunnels beneath the temple, with the sounds of gunfire and Imperial bombers at a slightly more comfortable distance now. Others had joined them on the way, two older padawans who had been valiantly yet unsuccessfully attempting to pry the children away from Skriveni as they went. The younglings seemed to have imprinted on him like baby animals. It would have been funnier if they weren’t all running from people who wanted to murder them

No sign of those Guardians, though. Jaunas was trying not to think about what had happened to them.

“Right. You’re the… buildings expert,” he told Skriveni. “Which way?”

“There’s a door about seven hundred - Masha, please take that out of your mouth - about seven hundred metres from here that will bring us into the lower levels. We’ll need an access card-”

“Or a handsome Jedi Knight with a talent for demolition?”

The Archivist gave him a flat look. One of the younglings giggled.

“Janus, please cover the rear,” Skriveni said. “Children, with me, please.”

“It’s Jaunas,” the Knight muttered, but he did it anyway.

Skriveni had been promoted to ‘Master Riv’ by the time they reached their destination. He wasn’t a Master, but some of the younger children still struggled with the word ‘Archivist’, and Skriveni had given up on explaining why the difference was so crucial. Jaunas had a more pressing concern.

“See that, to me, does not look like a door,” he said, as the group drew to a worried halt. “That looks very much like a pile of rocks.”

“You’re very observant,” Riv told him with heavy irony. Jaunas looked up at the ceiling.

“So I mean, aside from all the holes up there, how stable do you reckon this area is?”

Skriveni seemed to be considering carefully. One of Riv’s pint-sized retinue sidled closer to the Knight.

“Jaunas, I’m scared,” she muttered.

“Hello, scared,” Jaunas said gently, and ruffled her hair. “I’m Jaunas.”

This earned a weak giggle from the girl and a disapproving look from Riv.

“You don’t need to baby them. They’re Jedi learners.”

“They’re _children_ , Riv. Can we get through here or not?” Jaunas said, a little snappish. Fatigue weighed heavily on his limbs now, a result of continued exertion through the Force, and Riv’s behaviour irked him beyond the extremities of his finely-honed Jedi calm. Still, his opinion of the Archivist had risen slowly over the past half hour. There was something almost noble in the way he endured the attention of his adoptive younglings. Noble, and also slightly hilarious. The Jedi code didn’t _explicitly_ condemn seeing the funny side in every situation, so Jaunas reckoned he was in the clear.

“If you can keep that ceiling held up, the rest of us can move the rubble,” Riv told him.

As fun as it was to destroy centuries-old architecture with his Force powers, it was also tiring. Jaunas guessed he had one last good burst of exertion in him before he started to drop things. Still, no point in demoralizing their young charges. “Absolutely,” he said. “Alright, who wants to be a hero and move some rocks for me?”

Even as the first few chunks of broken masonry were levitated away, Jaunas could already feel the mental strain. His mind felt foggy, his biceps aching in an irritating kind of sympathy. Tiny fissures began to appear above them; the ceiling trembled and administered a small cloud of dust onto the ground below. “All good,” he managed. “Nothing to worry about.”

Riv’s eyes met his. “Keep going, initiates, you’re doing really well,” he announced. “Let’s see how fast we can get this done.”

“Teamwork!” Jaunas added, in a cracked voice.

To his credit, the Knight managed to keep the ceiling supported long enough for the rest of the group to get through, and when it collapsed in front of him in a cloud of powdered rock and embarrassment, it didn’t hit anyone, just scared the living crap out of the two padawans at the back. Or at least, that’s the impression he got before his view was completely obscured by debris. He staggered back, hoping he was out of architectural collapse range before his legs gave way beneath him and he had no choice but to stay there.

“You guys go ahead,” he called. “I’m, uh, I’m gonna take a breather. I’ll be along at… some point.”

There was no answer. Had they already left him for dead, or could he simply not hear them? As the minutes passed, the former seemed more and more likely. Jaunas rested his head back against the wall.

It wasn’t so bad, really. Maybe the Sith wouldn’t come. He’d left enough destruction in his wake that it would be pretty hard for them to get through anyway. Even if they did, well. Saving a bunch of kids was a noble enough way to go. Odred would be proud. (Was she even still alive? Jaunas was trying not to think about it.) And he was tired. Good _Force_ , he was tired. Maybe he’d just close his eyes for a second. Try to meditate. Maybe-

“Jaunas!”

A hand on his arm shook him out of sleep. It was Riv, the dust sticking to his hair with sweat, his robes almost in tatters. There was a cut on his forehead that made him look far more rugged and heroic than any librarian had a right to. Jaunas blinked at him.

“Wow,” he said blearily. “So you remembered my name after all.”

Skriveni flopped down beside him. He was breathing heavily. He didn’t reply.

“Kids get away safe?” Jaunas asked.

“Yes.”

“Huh. Good.” The Knight tried to straighten himself up a little. “You know. We make a good team.”

“I suppose.” Skriveni stared up at one of the corridor’s illumination panels, which was flickering precariously. Jaunas considered asking if Skriveni’s civil engineering knowledge extended to light fixtures, but concluded it might be taken the wrong way.

Instead, he said, “I have a question. Were you only calling me Janus because it sounds like anus?”

At that, Riv actually managed a smile. It lit up his face in a way Jaunas hadn’t been prepared for. “Maybe,” he conceded.

“Look,” Jaunas said, stretching his legs out in front of him. “For what it’s worth, I’m… sorry about what happened the last time we talked. I was a jerk.”

“We were both jerks.” Skriveni looked at him. Then he smiled again, his gaze dropping, as if silently amused by some private joke.

“It’s funny,” he continued. “You know why I got so angry at you?”

“Because I compared your specialist subject to underwater basket-weaving?”

“That too. But - it’s terrible. I think I was so ready to fight you because I… well, I found you attractive. And that _infuriated_ me.”

Jaunas stared at him, processing. “I have always thought of myself as infuriatingly handsome, it’s true,” he managed eventually.

“ _Force_ , you’re a jerk,” Riv said. But he was smiling.

“Yeah.” Jaunas smiled back. It faded quickly. “What do you think happens now? With the temple, I mean. The Empire, and all.”

Skriveni looked away. A few flecks of dust detached from his hair and settled on his robes. “I don’t know. This… they’re still bombing. I heard it in the distance. I don’t know what’s going on above ground or what the Order’s doing.”

“Do you think there’ll even be an Order when they’re done?”

“There’ll always be an Order.” Riv’s voice was wistful. “The legacy of the Jedi is ancient. Built to last. That’s one of the reasons I got so interested in architecture. And the resonance of these walls, the history in them… I can feel it all, when I touch them. The Jedi Order will outlive us. It’s too strong to just fade away.”

“Uh-huh,” said Jaunas, looking up at the cracks on the ceiling. “Riv? Did I thank you for coming back for me? I forget.”

“You did not.”

“Oh. Well… thank you. I’m sorry if it gets you killed.”

“It won’t.” Skriveni stood up, drawing himself to his full height. He extended a hand. “Come on. I’m not done saving you yet.”

Jaunas smiled, and took it.

* * *

The bombings had stopped by the time they found the others, but the battle was apparently still raging above them. A small collective of civilians had set up a barricade in the lower levels, guarded by some of the city’s patrol droids. Jaunas and Riv were offered water and ration bars, and kolto for their injuries, and ushered in to the home of a young woman who had volunteered them a place to rest.

The place was barely big enough for one person, let alone two; a second roll-out mattress had been laid on the floor of her bedroom, which Jaunas collapsed onto as soon as they were alone. He patted the space beside him. Riv looked at him, considering the implications in that gesture. Then, carefully, he sat down.

The two were so close as to be almost touching. Jaunas imagined he could feel the heat of his body through his robes. After a moment, Riv’s hand descended to brush through Jaunas’ hair, gentle as a breeze.

Jaunas pulled him down and kissed him.

They were exhausted, bruised, covered in smoke and dust, but it didn’t seem to matter now. Jaunas untied the front of Riv’s robes with shaking hands, their lips close but not yet meeting; Riv’s hands moved to the lapels of Jaunas’ cloak and gently eased it from his shoulders, letting it rest where it fell behind him. Jaunas’ hand moved to sink into Riv’s hair, teasing the thick black strands between his fingers before sliding down to cup the nape of his neck.

Even the barest contact between them seemed to make them both shiver. Their noses nudged against each other as Riv moved in for a kiss. Jaunas laughed softly, and after a moment, so did Riv, still smiling as their lips met.

The two undressed each other with careful anticipation, cautious of their respective bruises, hands moving to caress what had previously been hidden beneath layers of fabric. There was no urgency in their movements, despite the looming threat of the Empire all those levels above them, the discouraging reports from the surface that had filtered down in the interim. It was an unspoken consensus; one last night of peace, of two people staving off their grief in an embrace, taking solace in each other when their world was crashing down around them. Coruscant had fallen. The Imperial troops were already setting up their occupation. But maybe they could forget all this, for a while.

They were too tired to do much. Jaunas took Riv in hand, kissing him hungrily as he stroked up and down the length of his cock, and Riv responded in kind, his broad hands caressing Jaunas to hardness as they lay facing each other with their robes strewn around them. When Riv came it was with the softest of gasps, a gentle breath that caught in his throat and seemed to thrum through his whole body. Jaunas squeezed him close when he climaxed a minute or two later, lips pressed against the smooth crook of his neck.

“What do you think you’ll do, if we make it through this?” he asked Riv later, as they rested together in a loose embrace, Janus’ hair fanned across the other man’s shoulder.

“I expect we’ll be busy helping to reconstruct the Order,” Skriveni murmured. Jaunas looked at him.

“And if there is no Order to reconstruct? If all our Masters are dead, and the delegation to Alderaan with them? What are you going to do then?”

“I thought you were an optimist.”

“I am.” Jaunas reached for Riv’s hand and squeezed it. “But I’m also a realist. And I always did make a crappy Jedi anyway.”

“You’re not _that_ crappy.” Riv raised an eyebrow. “What are you proposing? That we run off into the sunset together?"

“Maybe. Would you come with me?”

“Maybe,” Riv conceded. He rested his head against Jaunas’, breathing with him in tandem, their hands still interlocked, and warm, and alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Mega props to [the WritingWithColor tumblr](https://writingwithcolor.tumblr.com/post/101967940901/wwc-guide-describing-asian-eyes) for helping me not be racist in describing my characters' eyes!


End file.
